When stress has drained me of nearly all feeling, I often look for a film that can offer some quiet relief. Call Me Chihiro is filled with loneliness, but its fragmented glimpses of ordinary life and its calm, distinctly Japanese imagery gave my recently lifeless mood a small place to breathe.
A film that refuses to hurry
This is an exceptionally slow-moving film. Everyday scenes that seem almost uneventful, generous stretches of empty space, deliberate pauses, and soft music create the sensation that time itself has stopped. Anyone expecting a conventional popcorn movie will probably be disappointed.
The story is not driven by a strong central plot. Instead, it is assembled from a series of seemingly unrelated moments surrounding Chihiro, a woman working at a convenience store. When the film ended, I was not even sure what it was trying to tell me. What remained was a feeling of release—as if a gentle hand had slowly smoothed out a crumpled heart.
Beauty in the pauses
The film would still be rewarding even if its story were set aside. For someone who enjoys Japanese-style photography, almost every frame has its own appeal: wide areas of blank space, open surroundings, the deep blue of the sea, and the warmth of the characters' smiles. The small pleasures and quiet beauty of everyday life seem to spill out beyond the screen.
Making peace with the person you have been
Chihiro's present life revolves around her job at the convenience store, but “Chihiro” was originally the name she used while working in the sex industry. She does not hide that part of her past, nor does she become uncomfortable when people mention it in front of her. The fact that she continues to use the name “Chihiro” says a great deal about her openness toward herself.
There is a kind of freedom in facing the past without disguising it. Being honest about who you are—keeping it real, in the simplest sense—can gradually remove the weight of shame and allow you to make peace with yourself. Chihiro does not appear to be trying to erase her former life. She has simply accepted that it belongs to her.
Loneliness, and the freedom inside it
Chihiro is often seen walking alone. There is Juniko, a high school student living in an emotionally oppressive family. There is Shisho, the silent homeless man. There is Makoto, a child who does not receive enough care from his mother. There is Tae, hospitalized with an eye condition. Nearly every character carries a distinct form of loneliness.
Watching the film alone at home on a weekend, I recognized something of myself in them. What surprised me was that Chihiro, despite being lonely herself, is able to ease the loneliness of others. Her healing smile does not solve their problems, but it makes the isolation a little less severe.
I have encountered that feeling many times in my own life. In middle school, when I stayed at school over the weekend, I could wander around the shopping mall nearby and spend ten yuan playing a racing game five times at an arcade. As an undergraduate, I could take a thirty-minute subway ride to the nearest cinema and watch a film by myself. During summer vacation, I could carry a backpack to Yangshuo in Guilin alone: ordering food alone, taking a bamboo raft alone, and hiking alone.
I still cannot decide whether loneliness is good or bad. It can be painfully lonely, but it can also be remarkably free.
“We come from different planets”
One of the film's most memorable ideas is that we are all aliens living inside human bodies, each of us from a different planet. If that is true, then failing to understand one another is not especially strange.
Juniko lives in a wealthy family. Her mother has a chef's certificate and prepares meals that are perfectly balanced in nutrition. Yet Juniko cannot taste the food properly when she is at home. She and her parents do not come from the same planet. As the film suggests, eating with certain people can make even a good meal taste worse.
The same may be true of parents, lovers, and friends. You may like someone and begin a relationship, only to discover that you are from different planets. There may be no shared subjects to talk about; being together may feel awkward, restrictive, and unnatural. Sometimes two people simply cannot make it to the end.
I am grateful that, looking back, I found someone who shares values similar to mine. Being with her does not feel constraining. It feels natural and comfortable. We live a difficult, modest life together in a home of less than thirty square meters. We can “fall apart” together, spending our weekends lazily and doing very little.
The world is large. Over the course of a lifetime, perhaps everyone will meet a few people who come from the same planet.
I still do not know whether I fully understood Call Me Chihiro. Perhaps that is not important. The film gave me the comfort I needed, and for now, that is enough.